let us glance at the home of basil wolgemuth. it was a german habitation of the middle ages; a comfortable but not luxurious dwelling, such a one as we see in old german pictures. in homes like this was nurtured the genius of rembrandt, of rubens, of vandyck; from such a peaceful german home sprang the fiery spirit and indomitable zeal of luther; and in like home-nests were cradled the early years of most of the rude but noble men, who, either by the sword or the pen, have made their names famous throughout the fair land of the rhine.
basil, his mother, margareta, and another young girl sat round a table, spread with the ample fare of bread and fruits. the mother was worthy of such a son,——a matron of placid but noble aspect; like him, too, in the deep clear eyes and open forehead. margareta, a sweet bud, which only needed[87] time to burst forth into a perfect flower, sat by her brother’s side; the fourth of the group was isilda.
i hardly know how to describe isilda. there is one face only i have seen which pictures her to my idea; it is a madonna of guido reni’s. once beheld, that face imprints itself forever on the heart. it is the embodiment of a soul so pure, so angelic, that it might have been eve’s when she was still in eden; yet there is in the eyes that shadow of woman’s intense love, the handmaid of which is ever sorrow; and those deep blue orbs seemed thoughtfully looking into the dim future with a vague sadness, as if conscious that the peace of the present would not endure. womanly sweetness, feelings suppressed, not slumbering, a soul attuned to high thoughts like a well-strung lyre, and only needing a breath to awaken its harmonious chords,——all these are visible in that face which shone into the painter’s heart, and has lived forever in the work of his hand. and such was isilda.
basil sat opposite to her; he looked into her eyes; he drank in her smile, and was happy. all traces of the careworn student had vanished; he was cheerful even to gayety; laughed and jested with his sister; bade her sing old ditties, and even joined in the strain, which made them all more mirthful still. basil had little music in his voice, but much in his heart. when the songs ceased, margareta prayed him to repeat some old ballad, he knew so many. the student looked towards isilda; her eyes had more persuasive eloquence than even his sister’s words, and he began:[88]——
“the elle-maid gay.[1]
“ridest by the woodland, ludwig, ludwig,
ridest by the woodland gray?
who sits by the woodland, ludwig, ludwig?
it is the elle-maid gay.
“a kiss on thy lips lies, ludwig, ludwig,
pure as the dews of may:
think on thine own love, brown-haired ludwig,
and not on an elle-maid gay.
“she sits ’neath a linden, singing, singing,
though her dropped lids nothing say;
for her beauty lures whether smiling or singing,
for she is an elle-maid gay.
“‘thou hast drunk of my wine-cup, ludwig, ludwig,
thou hast drunk of my lips this day;
i am no more false than thou, young ludwig,
though i am an elle-maid gay.’
“‘ride fast from the woodland, ludwig, ludwig,’
her laughter tracks his way;
‘didst thou clasp a fair woman, ludwig, ludwig,
and found her an elle-maid gay?’
“‘flee, flee!’ they cry, ‘he is mad, count ludwig;
he rides through the street to-day
with his beard unshorn, and his cloak brier-torn:
he has met with the elle-maid gay!’
[89]
“‘i fear him not, my knight, my ludwig’
(the bride’s dear lips did say),
‘though he comes from the woodland, he is my ludwig;
he saw not the elle-maid gay.
“‘welcome, my lord, my love, my ludwig!’
but her smile grew ashen-gray,
as she knew by the glare of the mad eyes’ stare,
he had been with the elle-maid gay.
“‘god love thee——god pity thee, o my ludwig!’
nor her true arms turned she away.
‘thou art no sweet woman,’ cried fiercely ludwig,
‘but a foul elle-maid gay.
“‘i kiss thee——i slay thee;——i thy ludwig’:
and the steel flashed bright to the day:
‘better clasp a dead bride,’ laughed out ludwig,
‘than a false elle-maid gay.
“‘i kissed thee, i slew thee; i——thy ludwig;
and now will we sleep alway.’
still fair blooms the woodland where rode ludwig,
still there sits the elle-maid gay.”
the student ceased; and there was a deep silence. basil’s young sister glanced round fearfully. isilda moved not; but as the clear tones of basil’s voice ended, one deep-drawn sigh was heard, as it were the unconscious relief of a full heart.
“you have chosen a gloomy story, basil,” said the mother, at last.
her voice broke the spell; and margareta added,——
“i do not pity that false-hearted knight; his was a[90] just punishment for a heavy sin: for the poor bride to die thus in her youth and happiness,——o, it was very sad!”
“not so,” said isilda, and she spoke in a low dreamy tone, as if half to herself. “it was not sad, even to be slain by him she loved, since she died in his arms, having known that he loved her. it was a happy fate.”
there was such an expression of intense feeling in the girl’s face as she spoke, that margareta looked at her in wondering silence; but basil gave an involuntary start, as if a new light had broken in upon his mind. the living crimson rushed immediately over isilda’s face and neck, she seemed shrinking into the earth with shame, and said no more. basil, too, kept silence. no marvel was it in the timid girl who rarely gave utterance to her thoughts, but that he whose heart was so full of poetry, whose lips were ever brimming over with eloquence, should be dumb,——it was passing strange! the student felt as though there was a finger laid on his lips, an unseen presence compelling him to silence; but the finger and the presence were those of the angel of love.
there was a constraint visible in all but margareta; she, too young to understand what was passing in the hearts of the two she loved so much, began to sport with her friend.
“well! i should not envy count ludwig’s bride, isilda; i would much rather live. farewell, you dolorous folk. i will go spin.”
and she vanished with the swiftness of a young fawn. the mother followed her with her eyes.
“a sunny and loving heart is thine, my child,” she murmured. “god bless thee, and keep all care from[91] that gay spirit!” and madame wolgemuth leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. the mother’s heart seemed absorbed in the past, or else dreaming of her child’s future.
but, by the two thus left together, past and future were alike unregarded. with basil and isilda it was all the present,——the blissful present, full of hope and love. they talked but little, and in broken sentences, flitting from subject to subject, lest each should lead to the unveiling of the delicious secret that was uppermost in both their hearts and which they at once feared, yet longed to utter. at last the lamp grew dim, and the moonlight streamed in through the narrow window. isilda noticed and spoke of it,——it was a relief.
“how lovely the moon looks, setting behind the cathedral!” and, rising, she walked to the window; it might be she was glad to escape from the passionate tenderness of basil’s gaze.
the young student followed her, moving noiselessly, for his aged mother had fallen asleep. and now the two stood together, silent, alone with their own hearts, looking up to the quiet, star-lit sky, and drinking in love, which seemed infinite as that heaven itself.
“how beautiful is this world!” murmured the girl.
“i feel it so; and most when thus with thee, isilda,”——and with what unspeakable sweetness and tenderness the name lingered on his lips,——“isilda,——my isilda!”
there was a moment of tremulous silence, and then the girl felt herself drawn closer, until her head rested on his bosom, and she heard his voice whispering in her ear,[92]——
“may i call thee my isilda——all mine——mine only——mine forever?”
she raised her head, and looked timidly but searchingly in his countenance.
“is it indeed true? dost thou then love me?”
“as my own soul!” passionately answered the student.
isilda hid her face again in his bosom, and burst into a shower of tears.
the girl and her lover went home together that night, through the cold, clear starlight, to isilda’s abode. many and many a time had they trod the same path, but now everything was changed. they had become all in all to each other; an infinity of love was around them; all was light, hope, and trembling gladness. the crisp snow crackled under isilda’s feet, and the sharp frosty air made her shiver; but she felt it not. she only clung the closer to basil’s arm; he was all her own now; he, her life’s joy, her pride, the idol of her dreams, the delight of her soul. such happiness was almost too much to bear; and, therefore, when she first knew that he loved her, had isilda wept,——nay, even when she had parted from basil and was alone, her full heart poured itself forth in tears. that he,——the noble, the gifted, so rich in the greatest of all wealth,——the wealth of genius; honored among men, with a glorious harvest of fame yet unreaped before him,——that he should love her, who had nothing to give but a heart that worshipped him! the girl, in her humility, felt unworthy of such deep happiness; all that her lips would utter were the blessed, joyful words, “he loves me,——he loves me! my[93] basil, mine own!” and even in her sleep she murmured the same.
man’s love is not like woman’s, yet basil was very happy,——happier than he had ever been in his life. the student, the philosopher, felt that all his wisdom was as nothing compared to the wondrous alchemy of love. so far from being weakened, his lofty mind seemed to grow richer beneath the light of beloved eyes; it was like the sunshine to the ripening corn. basil now knew how long isilda had filled his thoughts, and been mingled with all his hopes. he did not even then fathom the depths of her spirit, but he felt it was one with his; and man, proud man, ever rejoices to see his soul’s image reflected in a woman’s heart.
